How We Roll Up North
by Karalora
Summary: Ferocious monsters stalk the land. Villains thought long-defeated rise up once again to inflict their horrors upon the world! What can our Nordic boys do? Grab their weapons and dive right into the action, of course! They're no strangers to sword and sorcery, and things were getting pretty dull around here anyway!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: If this looks familiar, it's because I originally posted it under the title of "Mysteries, Magic, and Miracles." It was meant to be a collaboration between Mekkababble and me, but while she loved the idea, she found she wasn't able to contribute as much as she had hoped. So she gave sole custody to me. But she's not off the hook yet, because I plan to continue picking her brain for good jokes._

* * *

Pop quiz time! Of all the emotions experienced by humanity, which is the most destructive? Is it:

a. Anger

b. Jealousy

c. Greed

d. Fear

Time's up! The correct answer is actually: e. Boredom.

Think about it. Boredom drives toddlers to scream at the top of their lungs and break things just to see what the big people will do about it. It inspires teenagers to hot-wire cars and violate every single traffic ordinance at once. It causes people to watch daytime television when they're sick.

Now. Just imagine what a pack of former Vikings might do when bored…

"We could…go out to a bar?" Denmark suggested.

Sweden and Norway made noncommittal noises. "We _have_ beer," Sweden pointed out. "Or I guess I could mix cocktails or something."

"Meh," said Denmark. "Beer's fine. What if we…compared dick sizes again? I bet mine's grown since the last time!"

"Ugh, no," said Sweden. Norway flopped onto the floor, on his back, and began scrutinizing the texture on Sweden's ceiling.

"Norway? Any ideas?" said Denmark.

"How do you think they get it so uniform?" Norway mumbled.

"I dunno. Magic?" said Denmark.

Sweden slumped backward into the corner of the sofa, sliding his hand down between the cushions just for the tactile sensation. His questing fingers found a few coins, a mechanical pencil, and someone's toenail clipping. And then they found…something else. Puzzled at first, Sweden withdrew a multifaceted, bold blue object about the size of one of his knuckles.

"Magic…yeah…" he mused. "Guys? What about…this? I know it's been a while."

Denmark took a swig of beer before looking to see what Sweden was talking about. He almost spit it out in surprise, but it was _beer_. He swallowed instead. "A while? It's been _ages_. Can we even still do that?"

"Of course we can," said Sweden. "It's like riding a bicycle. Doesn't this bring back memories?"

"Oooohhhhhh yeah," said Denmark. "Roaming a simpler world…collecting treasure…"

"Crushing our enemies, driving them before us, and hearing the lamentations of their womenfolk!" Norway said in a curiously intense voice, still staring at the ceiling. Sweden ever-so-subtly shifted position on the sofa so that he was a tiny bit farther away from Norway than before.

Denmark sat up straighter, the smile growing on his face. "Guys…we should totally do it! It'll be awesome!"

"I'm game!" said Norway.

Sweden unholstered his cell phone. "I'll call Åland right now and tell him we're ready to launch a new campaign!"

"I should invite Iceland!" said Norway. "He said he wanted in if we were ever going to do it again."

Not twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Åland stood there, his stance lopsided due to the weight of a jumbo-sized bookbag slung over one shoulder. Finland was with him, a rare smile gracing his face…if that savage grin could be called a smile.

"He insisted," Åland said with a smile of his own. "He's had to act civilized for far too long. I hope no one minds."

"It wouldn't be the same without him," said Sweden. "Glad to have you aboard, Finland."

"So then, shall we begin?"

"Not just yet," said Norway. "Iceland's on his way."

Åland raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he knows what he's getting into?"

Norway stuck out his chest and beamed. "Nope!"

"Perfect."

"We can set up while we wait for him," said Denmark. "I'll get the maps!"

"You'll do no such thing," said Sweden. "They're _my_ maps; I'll get them. You and Norway can expand the dining table and arrange the chairs. Finland, make sure all the curtains are drawn."

When Iceland arrived, he goggled at the growing setup for a moment.

"Wow, guys. This is more elaborate than I expected."

"Have a seat, brother!" said Norway.

Åland opened his bag and began plunking heavy tomes on the table.

"Are we sure about this?" said Iceland. "I hear the world's moved on quite a bit since those days."

"I won't hear of it," said Åland. "They should never have tried to improve on perfection. It's 3.5 or nothing as far as I'm concerned."

He slammed down the last three (and largest) of his books.

_Player's Handbook._

_Dungeon Master's Guide._

_Monster Manual._

Sweden upended a small drawstring bag, spilling dozens of brightly colored polyhedral dice across the table. He topped off the pile with the blue 20-sider he had found in the sofa cushions.

See?

Boredom is _dangerous_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Åland passed out blank character sheets, saying, "We'll go with the usual for character creation."

Iceland's hand shot up. "What's the usual? I've never done this before."

"Level 5 to start, point buy 28 for stats, 9,000 gold for equipment," Sweden rattled off by heart.

"And that means…?" said Iceland.

Åland eyeballed Norway. "He's your tagalong. You get to explain things to him."

Norway quietly broke it down for Iceland while Åland continued.

"Finland has already informed me that he intends to play a barbarian again." Finland fist-pumped the air as though he were clutching an axe. "How about the rest of you?"

The three proper Scandinavians spoke all at once. "Bard." "Wizard." "Ranger."

Åland made some notes. "No surprises there. Iceland? Have you picked a class yet?"

"What are my options?"

He slid the_ Player's Handbook_ over. "You want Chapter 3: Classes. Dog-ear the pages and I will _end_ you."

Thumbing through the early part of the book, Iceland stopped in the previous chapter. "What are all these? 'Half-orc?' 'Gnome?'"

"Oh, those are the different races player-characters can be," said Sweden. "We all usually just play humans, though. Humans aren't pigeonholed so much, plus they get an extra feat at Level 1."

"But I thought we were starting at Level 5."

"We are," said Norway. "But you have to start by making a Level 1 character, and then bringing him up to Level 5. Don't worry, it's not as complicated as it sounds."

Iceland looked over the illustrations of the races. "Can I be an elf?"

"Sure," said Åland. Just add two to your DEX and subtract two from your CON once you finish buying up your stats. And write down all your racial features on your sheet for easy reference."

"You still have to pick a class, though," said Denmark. "Åland, should we buy equipment yet?"

"Settle your weapons, armor, and any magic items," said Åland. "The rest can wait."

"It says here elves prefer to be wizards," said Iceland.

"_I'm_ playing a wizard," Sweden frowned. "Play something else."

"'Favored class' doesn't mean they prefer it," said Norway. "It means they're naturally good at it, so it doesn't count against their XP if they multiclass."

"Which is not something a stark newbie even needs to be thinking about," said Åland.

"Okay…so what's the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer?"

"Lots," said Denmark, "but we don't need a sorcerer either. Bards cast magic basically the same way sorcerers do. With both a wizard _and_ a bard in the party, a sorcerer would be completely redundant."

"We could use a cleric," said Sweden. "Otherwise we'll be spending all our gold on _cure_ potions."

"I could take _cure_ spells," said Denmark.

"More efficient to have you focus on the mental stuff," said Sweden.

"True."

Iceland found his place in the next chapter and skimmed the cleric section. "Sounds boring," he said. "I think I'd rather be a sorcerer."

"I could go druid instead of ranger," said Norway. "Then we'd at least have a primary divine caster with decent access to healing magic."

"Iceland, we don't need _three_ arcane casters," said Sweden. "Even two is pushing it in a group this size." He gave Denmark a hint of stink-eye.

"You guys are losing me again," said Iceland, flipping pages rapidly back and forth.

"Slow down!" Åland wailed. "You'll tear it!"

"Sorry! But you guys have to stop talking over my head! I don't know all this stuff like you do!"

"Here," Sweden said brusquely, setting a laptop in front of Iceland. "I pulled up a website so you don't have to keep manhandling the book. All the core rules in one place—organized and hyperlinked."

"_Good_," said Åland, lunging out of his chair to reclaim the _Player's Handbook_. "You have to be gentle with these! They're out of print!"

"Aw, but I like manhandling books," Iceland said with a pretend pout.

"Note to self: Next time we sleep over at Iceland's, tape a book to my crotch," said Denmark.

Finland let his pencil fall noisily to the table, skated his completed character sheet over to Åland for approval, and took a theatrical pull from his liquor bottle. The three Scandinavians groaned loudly. "He always finishes his first!" said Sweden.

"He knows what he wants," said Åland. "And he doesn't have to worry about spell selection. Iceland, maybe you should go with a non-spellcasting class too, for simplicity. A fighter or a monk would be best, so we have another combat-focused party member."

"No, I think I'm good with spellcasting. I've played a warlock in WoW for almost five years."

"That doesn't mean anything," said Denmark. "This is _completely_ different."

"While we're on the subject of spells," said Sweden, "should I mark down now what I have memorized, or just what's in my spellbook?"

"Spellbook is fine," said Åland, looking over Finland's sheet. "We won't get into any actual dice play until next session at least. This looks good." He passed the sheet back. "Make me a photocopy for next time."

"I'm done," said Sweden. "Want to check it?"

Åland smiled warmly. "I trust you."

"What about me, Åland? Do you trust me?" said Denmark.

The smile faded. "Not as far as I can throw America. Hand it over." He did, and Åland pored over the sheet. "What," he said, "is a _thong of armor_?"

"It's like _bracers of armor_," Denmark replied, "only not bracers as such."

Norway smashed his character sheet against his face, stifling an explosion of laughter. "Oh, crap," he said afterward. "I think I need a new one."

"It wouldn't be Game Night if at least one character sheet didn't get destroyed," said Åland, sliding over a fresh one. "Denmark, _why_ do you—never mind. I don't think we need to know."

"So can I have it?"

"Sure. Assume the price and weight are the same as bracers. It will count as your torso item."

"_Sweetie!_" Sweden protested.

"If I don't let him, he'll just find something else completely tasteless to do."

"I love you," said Denmark. "With mouth."

"In your dreams," Åland said evenly. "Iceland, did you ever figure out your class?"

"I told you: sorcerer. I'm almost done. I think."

"And _I_ told _you_, we don't need three arcane casters," said Sweden.

Iceland set his jaw in a way that he had been prone to since he was a tiny settlement barely out of diapers. It always meant the same thing: thus far, and no farther. His mind was made up.

Åland sighed. "Denmark, I don't suppose you might re-write yours as a rogue or something?"

"Not now that it's half-finished."

The Dungeon Master made a disgusted sound in his throat. "Great. Now I have to scale everything for a magic-heavy, combat-weak party."

"I could go back to ranger," Norway offered. "We'd just have to suck it up and stock lots of potions."

"No, we're already behind schedule. I can make this work. I _will_ make this work. We won't be the first group to play with an unbalanced party."

"Any plans yet for what we'll be facing?" asked Norway.

"I have a few ideas," said Åland.

"Are they _sexy_ ideas?" said Denmark.

Åland narrowed his eyes. "We'll see."

"Here," said Iceland, offering his character sheet for inspection. "Did I do this right?"

"Hmmmm…" said Åland. "You didn't write down your saving throws, you forgot to factor your DEX bonus into your armor class, you added up your encumbrance wrong, you gave yourself too low an attack bonus for your feat selection, and I don't know _what_ you're doing with your Spell Resistance chart. But it's not bad for a first try."

"Math is hard," Iceland opined, taking the sheet back.

"Well, get used to it," said Sweden.

"What do you guys think I should have for my animal companion? Not a wolf or bear; I want to try something different this time," said Norway. "And don't say pony, Denmark."

"A pony," said Denmark. There was a chorus of groans.

"This must be some running gag I'm not familiar with," said Iceland.

"Denmark doesn't even like to have wild animals around _in the game_," Sweden explained. "How about an eagle?"

Finland scribbled something on scrap paper and held it up. "A lynx?" said Norway. "I like it! Åland, will that work?"

"Uh…sure!" said Åland. "I'll have to figure out the stats, though."

"Start with a leopard and downsize a little," said Sweden.

"That's what I was thinking."

"Oh, wait, I get some kind of animal too, don't I?" said Iceland.

"A familiar," said Sweden. "We both get one. I like ravens because they can talk."

"Careful now," said Åland with a cheeky smile. "If you choose a prey animal, I _will_ have Norway's lynx try to hunt it sometimes."

"What if he chooses a cat?" said Denmark. "Will Norway's lynx try to boink it sometimes?"

"Denmark," said Norway, "just take a bathroom break already."

Denmark shoved his chair out. "Be back in three, guys." He vanished into the hallway.

"Three? No wonder he ends up with men more often than women," Sweden remarked.

"I think I'll go with a snake," said Iceland.

"Why a snake?" said Sweden.

"Because I can have it bite our enemies!"

"Just so long as you're aware you'll lose a bunch of XP if it dies," said Åland.

"But how likely is that?"

"With a snake? All they have to do is step on it," said Norway.

"You know what?" said Iceland. "I'll take my chances. I used to think it would be cool to have a pet snake, but none will go near my place. I think they're scared of the demons."

"You said not to worry about prepared spells yet, right?" said Norway.

"Right," said Åland.

"Then I'm done for now. Here."

"Sweden…" Iceland said, singsong.

"What…?"

"Will you help me with these numbers?"

"Uh…yeah. Sure."

Denmark returned, moving at a gait somewhere between a stroll and a strut.

"Better hurry up," said Norway. "You'll be the last to finish your sheet the way things are going."

"_Aah!_" Denmark exclaimed, hurrying the rest of the way back to his seat. "That's a terrible thing to spring on a person, Norway!"

"Well, it's true."

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Don't call it yet, Åland!"

"What's he on about?" said Iceland.

"Oh," said Sweden. "It's a tradition we have. The last person to finish their character sheet is on the hook to provide beer for the first five sessions."

Iceland made a horrified sound. "Denmark! Don't drop this on me! At least you can afford it!"

There was a scramble for the next five or ten minutes. Iceland squeaked his corrected character sheet in a hair ahead of Denmark and let himself fall dramatically out of his chair in relief.

"Dammit!" said Denmark. "You only won because Sweden was helping you, you know. Oh, well. At least this means I also get to _pick_ the beer."

Åland gave them a cursory examination. "These look fine for now. I'd like to get going so I can introduce my new setting."

"Ready whenever you are, sweetie," said Sweden.

"I'll hold you to it," Åland said wryly, while Finland mimed gagging. "So, then…you all meet in an inn…"

* * *

The tavern's sign was in the shape of a sheep for some reason, but the name painted on it was the Holy Watering Hole. Adventurers for leagues around knew it as _the_ place to meet up before setting out on a quest, booze up while recovering from the last quest, and pick up gossip in order to get ideas for a _new_ quest. It got its unusual name from the fact that Vancati, the landlord and bartender, was a retired cleric of...no one was quite sure. He never identified his deity by name, referring to it only as "Our Lord." The cocktail menu, littered with names like "Blood of the Lamb" and "Bloody Virgin Mary," gave some patrons cause for suspicion...but he sold genuine holy water to the vampire-hunters at cost and had been known to cast a _cure_ spell or two on the truly needy.

And the wine was good and cheap. Vancati would even give you a free sample if you listened to him sing the praises of his anonymous deity for a few minutes. The beer, on the other hand, had sextupled in price in the last month, owing to the fact that the barley fields in the adjacent valley had mysteriously burned down.

That's the sort of news that adventurers live for, and no fewer than three parties had already gone to investigate. Their efforts had been...less than successful. Indeed, the latest bunch to try—a group of four sponsored by the wealthy Lord Glennad—were huddled up in the back of the Holy Watering Hole on the very evening the story begins, noticeably scuffed and lamenting their failure.

"And the worst part is," complained the red-haired half-elf in a lilting accent, "we can't even afford a beer to drown our sorrows!"

"Shut up, Esuthorn," said the other red-haired half-elf bitterly. "It was _your_ fault that magical automaton nearly killed Alwes."

"You shut up, Renthorn!" the first retorted. The two of them, the infamously fractious Diranel Twins, began a slap fight.

"Shut up, the both of you!" growled the dwarf, thumping the table. "I've about had it with this party. I might just tell His Lordship to keep his gold from here on out."

"You always say that, Stalcond, but you never go through with it," said the last of the group, a dark-haired human who, by process of elimination, had to be Alwes. "We make a good team. We're just having a bad...year. I'm sure Lord Glennad will understand."

"I don't even work for him anymore," Esuthorn grumbled. "I only came with you as a favor to Renthorn, and now I'm sorry I bothered. Blood thicker than water, my arse. Get the water muddy enough..." He trailed off.

A shadow fell over the table—not an ominous shadow, just the sort of shadow that indicates someone's presence. The glum foursome looked up to see another patron standing over them.

He was human, not very big, with boyish, rather dashing looks. He flashed them all a disarming smile.

"What can you tell me," he said, "about what's going on in that valley?"

Stalcond sneered. "What can you pay for the information?"

After several minutes, Kendram the bard slunk back to his own party's table, his purse a bit lighter and his mood a bit heavier. "Damn gold-grubbing dwarves," he muttered.

"What did you find out?" asked Wendes, the self-appointed leader of the group. He was obviously a wizard, as evidenced by his bookish spectacles and pale, indoorsy complexion...to say nothing of the pointed hat, rune-embroidered tunic and oddly shaped staff with a raven perched on top. He occasionally passed the bird a tidbit from his bowl of stew.

"Not much," Kendram admitted. "The burning is almost certainly some sort of foul play, and the perpetrator has at least one automaton or golem protecting his lair. Some of the locals reported seeing lightning with no clouds."

"A wizard, then," said the fellow to Kendram's right. He sat a good head taller than the bard, and looked larger still with his bushy blond hair and the bulky fur cloak he wore. He too periodically passed a bit of food to an animal, though his was under the table, out of sight.

"He could be a sorcerer, Yarwon," said Wendes. "Or an archmage. Maybe even a mystic theurge or renegade loremaster."

"All right, all right, I get it," said Yarwon.

"In any case," said Kendram, "there's four guys over there and they got pretty well spanked. We definitely need more hands on the team. Yarwon, when can we expect your friend?"

"Don't worry, he'll be here," said Yarwon.

The fourth and (so far) last member of the party said nothing, but then, he never did. He just watched the door and shot a glare of warning at anyone who passed within attack-of-opportunity range of the table. Between glares, he ate his meal directly off the point of his dagger, which was almost large enough to count as a shortsword, yet looked small compared to the actual sword he had strapped to his back along with a double-bladed axe. Taken together, the weaponry and associated straps and sheaths covered more of his skin than his actual clothing did...although criss-crossing scars and at least one tattoo made up some of the difference. (The technical term for this sort of person is "tough customer.")

"I hope he shows up soon," said Wendes. "Faldinn's getting twitchy, and I don't think a tavern brawl is part of the plan for this evening."

The door was flung open as if blown by a strong wind...which was odd, because it was a calm night. Some dramatic conventions must be obeyed regardless of logic. The person who entered was slightly built and dressed in flowing garments, including a hooded cloak so lightweight that it was almost gauzy and would be laughably ineffective at anything except billowing impressively.

"I think that's him now," Yarwon muttered.

"You _think_?" said Wendes.

"We've only actually met a couple of times." At the others' incredulous looks, Yarwon said, "What? It's a big forest! We don't exactly hold a Market Day every week."

The newcomer approached their table. Faldinn nonchalantly jammed his knife into the wood and cracked his knuckles. But even he wasn't prepared to see a little green snake's head dart out of the fellow's hood and hiss.

"Down, Fegurð," said a fortunately humanoid voice from deeper within the hood. It was summarily thrown back to reveal the delicate, pointed features and white-blond hair of an elf. The snake was draped over the back of his neck: a familiar, much like Wendes's raven. "Cinadel Firegleam," the elf said. "Sorcerer," he added almost as an afterthought.

"Right," said Yarwon. "Cinadel, these are my companions: Kendram the Silver-Tongued, bard..."

"Is he a _spoony_ bard?" asked Cinadel.

"Yes. Yes he is," said Wendes with the smile of one on the inside of an inside joke.

"...Wendes Goldenstar, wizard," Yarwon continued, "and Faldinn, barbarian warrior of the Elk Clan."

"A pleasure," said Cinadel, settling into the spare chair. "So, what's the mission?"

"Take a look around," said Yarwon. "Notice anything odd?"

Cinadel glanced around the tavern. "Well...those are some of the most modestly dressed tavern wenches I've ever seen."

"_Thank_ you!" Kendram burst out. "I mean, where are you supposed to put the tips, in their wimples?"

"Yarwon is referring," said Wendes hurriedly, "to the fact that everyone is drinking wine, because the beer has gotten too expensive." At that very moment, in fact, Vancati was rubbing out the outrageous price for beer on his slate in order to chalk in an even more outrageous price. "Someone's been burning down the barley fields. We mean to put a stop to it."

"And save the beer!" Kendram crowed, strumming what could only be described as a power chord on his lute. This raised a half-hearted cheer from the other patrons.

"You spoony bard," said Wendes.

"All right, I'm game," said Cinadel. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow," said Wendes. "We'll hit the market first and stock up on supplies. Everyone make sure to get a good night's sleep...or trance, in your case, I guess. I'll go arrange our lodgings with Vancati."

He had to wait a bit, because Vancati was seeing to a large group of dwarves with a dinner reservation.

"Oakenshield, party of...thirteen, really? That many? In that case, I recommend the Last Supper Special! All you can eat for thirty pieces of silver!"

* * *

"This seems like a good place to stop for the evening," said Åland. "What do you guys think so far?"

"It's hard to say," said Norway. "We're barely into it. It feels like the standard setting so far."

"That rival team of adventurers was pretty fun," said Denmark. "Just sitting around the table sniping at each other. How did you manage to generate them so fast?"

"I have my ways," Åland said with a self-satisfied smirk.

"So far, so good, sweetie," said Sweden. "It does feel a little generic, but like Norway said, we're barely into it—I trust you'll mix things up once we actually get into the adventure."

"Just you wait," said Åland.

"How about you, Iceland?" said Norway. "What do you think so far?"

"I don't know. We didn't really _do_ anything yet."

"It will be better next time," said Denmark. "We'll have beer next time!"

"Actually, don't worry about that for now," said Åland. "Start bringing the beer once you get through the barley fields story arc...assuming you win. It will make for better immersion if we have a beer shortage in real life too."

"Oh, sweetie, you are _ruthless_," said Sweden. "I like it! Wait...story arc? There's going to be more than one?"

"That all depends on whether your characters survive this one," was the cool reply.

"You're bluffing," said Denmark. "You wouldn't hit us with a TPK. You never kill PCs unless it's plot-relevant."

"Denmark, Rule Zero!" Norway said.

"What's Rule Zero?" asked Iceland.

"Don't give the DM ideas!" chorused the rest of the group. Even Finland held up a hastily written sign.

"Is everyone free tomorrow night, then?" said Åland. There was a murmur of yeses. "Super. We'll start at six. Full session this time, bring all your dice."

The gathering broke up, but no one noticed the flicker of movement at the window, or the smudges on the glass that suggested someone had been pressed up, watching them...

To Be Continued...

* * *

_A/N: So, wh__o figured out __how Åland came up with all those NPCs on such short notice? Answer correctly for 100 bonus XP!_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

"All right, everyone, let's not get sidetracked chit-chatting," said Åland, setting up his DM's Screen. The obverse side, facing the players, featured a panoramic scene of an adventuring party in pitched combat with a band of orcs (unless they were hobgoblins). "I have a lot of material planned for tonight. Anyone need a refresher from yesterday before we begin? Good. Iceland—dice out, we're rolling tonight." He plugged a set of small speakers into his laptop and started a playlist of energetic, folksy instrumental music. "The marketplace is a scene of organized chaos..."

* * *

The party approached the bustling town square.

"This is so exciting! My first real adventure!" Cinadel declared. "So how does this work? Do we pool our resources, or what?"

"Eventually," said Wendes. "Each party member is responsible for buying their own personal items such as bedroll, but after that we all kick in for things the entire group needs, such as potions."

"Wait, wait...bedroll? Do we really anticipate this being an overnight trip? It's just the next valley over, right?"

There was a round of cynical laughter. "One of the cardinal rules of adventuring: Never make any assumptions about your itinerary," said Yarwon.

"You can set out to assassinate a corrupt nobleman," Kendram elaborated, "and drop through a portal in his closet that takes you to the other side of the world. Or to another world entirely."

"Some fun, huh?" said Yarwon.

"We're not going to be doing anything like that, are we?" said Cinadel with a faint expression of alarm.

"There's no way to tell this early in the game," said Wendes. "For now, we have shopping to do."

That was, if anything, putting it lightly. Kitting out properly for an adventure is, in many ways, an exercise in preparing for the un-prepare-for-able. In addition to the aforementioned bedrolls (with extra blankets in case of unusually chilly nights), they equipped themselves with lanterns, torches, coils of rope, a few days' worth of food, two sturdy waterskins apiece, some basic cookware, spare weapons, and sufficient backpacks and belt pouches to carry it all. And that was just the stuff qualifying as "general utility." Wendes stocked up on parchment and ink, Kendram acquired a spool of catgut for replacing broken lute strings, and Yarwon spent nearly an hour in an herbalist's shop, patiently assembling a collection of medicinal tinctures and powders. During this process, Kendram got bored and wandered off, and when he returned to the group he had gotten hold of a high-quality map of the routes between the town and their destination.

"Is that everything?" asked Cinadel. "Can we get going now?"

"Calm down, elf," said Wendes. "We still need to buy some _cure_ potions so Yarwon can use his spells for something besides healing."

In accordance with prudent village planning guidelines, they made their way to the edge of town, found the local waterway, and followed it downstream. After several minutes, they came across a spot where a naturally occurring heap of stones had partially dammed the stream, creating a pond thick with duckweed. Someone had at some point reclaimed some of the land from the pond by building a retaining wall, and part of the wall had been incorporated into a pretty little stone cottage.

A banner hanging on the front of the cottage read "Seldennahrt's Potion Emporium and Tea House," which probably qualified it as an apothecary unless there was some extremely misleading slang involved. Enough smoke was streaming from the windows to make them wonder whether they had arrived just in time to catch the owner committing insurance fraud, but as they drew nearer, the sharp herbal scent revealed that the place was merely open for business.

Inside, the lighting was low and the smoke was a lot thicker. It clung to every surface and filled the atmosphere with a foul-smelling but oddly pleasant haze. Ground Zero for the smoke bomb was the man behind the counter, presumably Seldennahrt. He was a lean man with unkempt light brown hair and an expression of good-natured sleepiness that was very probably caused by whatever he was refilling his pipe with when he glanced up at the party.

"Welcome!" he said with a little flourish of the pipe that added more smoke to the general fog. "Adventurers, I see! I used to be an adventurer like you, until—"

"—you took an arrow to the knee?" Kendram guessed.

Seldennahrt made a weird, droning laugh. "That's funny. But I was gonna say, until my uncle croaked and left me this sweet little shop. It's way easier to serve the adventuring community than to participate myself. So, what kind of brew can I interest you in today?"

Despite their plans, the group couldn't help but browse the merchandise. The shop walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, all of them crammed with vials and bottles. There was little sense of organization, though each potion was meticulously labeled with a name and a price tag right out of the _Dungeon Master's Guide_. Wendes picked up a small bottle of something colorless and cloudy.

Suddenly, Seldennahrt was right next him, saying "Liiiiiiiike it? _Potion of gaseous form_. Drink that and you'll be one with the mist, man. It's a real trip."

"Yes, I know what it does," said Wendes, replacing the bottle on the shelf. His raven ruffled its feathers and muttered peevishly.

Seldennahrt sidled up to Faldinn, who was just wiggling the cork out of another vial in order to sniff the inky liquid within. "_Potion of darkvision_," he said, causing Faldinn to drop the cork in surprise. "You'll be able to _see_ things, man, see things nobody else in the party can. It's a real trip."

"Why is he describing all the potions in terms that make them sound like drugs?" wondered Yarwon. "Listen, we're really just looking for _cure_ potions."

"Of course! An indispensable part of any adventurer's inventory! What's your speed today? _Cure moderate wounds?_ _Remove blindness?_ They're all top-of-the-line, of course! Slug one today and the pain goes away! It's a real trip."

"I'm sure it is," said Wendes. "We'll take…let's see…"

After some back and forth discussion, they settled on ten _cure light wounds_, three _cure moderate wounds_, and one _neutralize poison_. Seldennahrt moseyed from shelf to shelf, collecting the requested items and dropping them into the pockets of his apron with a level of nimbleness and focus that should have been impossible for someone as far out of his gourd as he clearly was. He returned to his place behind the counter and began packaging the vials and adding up the purchase on an abacus.

"Will that be all for today?" he asked.

"Not quite," said Cinadel. "Can I get a jasmine oolong, one sugar, half milk, to go?"

Seldennahrt looked blank for a moment. "Beg pardon?"

"Your sign says this is also a tea house."

"So it does." Seldennahrt reached under the counter and brought out a small, very cobwebby ceramic teapot. "_Voilà._"

"So…you don't actually make tea?"

"What are you, a narc? That'll be 2,150 gold pieces."

Over in the corner by the protection potions, Kendram burst into a fit of giggles. Wendes rolled his eyes, marched up to the counter, and began to count out gold coins.

Suddenly there came a sharp rapping at the door, and the cottage vanished.

"Crap," said Wendes. "I'll be right back."

* * *

The spell of immersion broken, the group watched Sweden leave the table and answer the front door.

It was Russia. "Sweden, what are you doing here?" he said.

"I _live_ here," said Sweden. "What do you want?"

"But what are you _doing_ here?" Russia said. "Here, I explain. For second night in a row, I see you here with other Nordics, playing with books and papers. It is make me wery curious."

He was dropping the articles from his sentences and mispronouncing his v's, a sure sign that he was over the legal limit even by his own standards. As if the smell weren't proof enough. (As much as ninety proof, if Sweden was any judge.) "Go home, Russia," said Sweden. "You're drunk. Wait—you've been _looking in my windows_? Not cool!"

"Apology," Russia mumbled. "I am get wery lonely these days. You have many friends, Sweden. It is make me enwious."

"Poor thing. Why don't you go home, get a good night's sleep, and call a therapist in the morning or something? And lay off the vodka. You smell like an accident in a chemical warehouse." He made shooing motions until Russia got the message, turned about, and began wobbling his way back to the sidewalk. Sweden waited until he was certain the ex-superpower was really leaving, and then shut the door, locked it, and after half a moment's thought, threw the deadbolt as well.

When he got back to the table, the others were just coaxing Finland out from under it. "It's all right, Finland," Sweden said matter-of-factly. "I chased the scary bad man away."

"Never mind," said Åland. "Let's just pick it back up...hang on a second. Where's Iceland?"

The youngest Nordic poked his head out of the adjacent room. "Sorry," he said,

"What were you doing in my kitchen?" asked Sweden.

"Uh...getting a snack? Because I was hungry? I wasn't hiding or anything!" Iceland let out a little nervous laugh. "Why would I be afraid of Russia just because I owe him money?"

"If you're not at this table in three seconds, 'Cinadel Firegleam' is about to get eaten by an umber hulk," said Åland. Iceland was seated before he even finished the sentence.

"I don't know what that is," he said, "but I bet I don't want to be eaten by one."

* * *

They set out on their journey. Within a few hours of leaving the town, farmland gave way to old-growth forest. The road shrank to a cart-path, winding between massive trees whose foliage cast deep shade. Cinadel led the way, his eyes unhindered by the gloom. Yarwon followed, alert for any sign of hostile animals or other natural hazards. Faldinn brought up the rear, so that anything trying to sneak up on the group from behind would have to get through a brick wall of barbarian before it could do anything else. That left Kendram, trying to cower behind Yarwon's bulk in order to minimize his vulnerability to the raw fury of nature, and Wendes, forcibly restraining him from cowering _so _closely behind Yarwon as to get in his way.

It was quiet, there on the path under the trees. The only sounds were muted birdsong and the party's own footsteps. The air was still and warm and tinged with the scent of pine needles and dried leaves. And yet, the peaceful, comfortable atmosphere held a sense of foreboding for our intrepid adventurers, who shared a nagging suspicion that what awaited them in the valley beyond would be anything but—

"We get it, okay?" Kendram snapped. "Very evocative. You're a master storyteller."

"Hey, I was enjoying it," said Yarwon.

"Well, it was creeping me out a little."

"You spoony bard," said Wendes.

By and by, their travels took them out of the deep woods and to the shore of a lake, which the path followed for a while. Then it veered off again and the terrain became steeper and rockier. Come late afternoon, they took a break and Kendram perused his map.

"We must be nearly to the pass by now," he said. "I think this hairpin turn _here_ is that switchback from a little while ago."

"I hope so," said Wendes. "I doubt we have two hours of daylight left."

Not fifteen minutes later, they rounded a hill and stared, flabbergasted, at the massive rockslide that was completely blocking the pass.

"Well, shit," said Wendes.

Yarwon walked up and prodded the edge of the collapse with his toe. "Seems real enough."

"This must have just happened within the last day or two," said Kendram. "The guy I got the map from had only just arrived in town from this direction and he didn't mention anything like it."

"So what do we do?" asked Cinadel. "I don't know any spells for moving asstons of rock out of the way, do you guys?"

"I have _fly_ prepared, but that would only take care of one of us," said Wendes.

"_Stone shape_ might work to make a passage through it," said Yarwon, "but it would take me days to renew the spell enough times. Maybe weeks."

Kendram pulled out the map again. "It looks like there's another pass over the next ridge. But we can't get there directly from here. We'll have to backtrack to the lake and follow the shore around to the other road. No way to get there before nightfall."

"All in favor of camping here for the night?" said Wendes. It was unanimous.

They did move a short distance away, to a spot that would be safe if something re-started the avalanche during the night, and made camp.

"And this is why we always make sure to have bedrolls," Yarwon told Cinadel. The elf didn't have a bedroll as such—instead, he had purchased a cushioned tripod upon which to sit during his four hours of nightly meditation. But the principle was the same.

Night and morning passed, surprisingly enough, without incident...except for a brief panic when Kendram shifted in his sleep and Yarwon's lynx mistook the movement for a small rodent. By midday, the adventurers were picking their way around the lake. There was no proper road or path along the water's edge, though the marshier sections had been lined with logs to create a stable surface. The weather was pleasant, the mosquitoes less so.

They were just getting used to things when several black-clad figures leaped out of the forest to surround them on the three sides. (The fourth was the lake itself.)

"You have got to be kidding me," said Cinadel. "_Ninjas?_"

"Apparently so," said Wendes as they all readied weapons, spells, or both.

"Isn't this supposed to be a pseudo-medieval European-style setting?"

"Yes," said the wizard. "And in this pseudo-medieval European-style setting, there are ninjas. Just roll with it."

Kendram grinned. "Pun intended?"

"Never mind," said Wendes. "Let's find out what these guys want."

"We could ask you the same thing," said the central ninja in a cold, slithering, inhuman voice. Odds were good that he (she? it?) _wasn't_ human, nor indeed of any mortal race. Standard ninja garb exposes only the eyes, which in this case were swirling pools of reddish light, set in a face so black that the fabric of its clothing looked washed-out by comparison. The others didn't even have the eyes. Clearly someone had taken the term "shadow warrior" _way_ too literally.

"_You_ challenged _us_," said Wendes. "If there's a quarrel here, you're the ones to start it."

"The only reason for you to be traveling this way is to cross over into our master's domain. What business do you have with our master?"

"If your master's the one who's been burning down the crops," said Yarwon, "that _makes_ it our business."

"Enemies, then," said the lead ninja. "We fight!"

* * *

Åland peered over the top of his screen at the players, tilting his head slightly so that he was also looking over the top of his glasses. "Roll for initiative."

* * *

The ninjas sprang into action as a unit, drawing their swords and leaping to attack in one smooth motion. But the adventurers, primed to action by the tense confrontation, were ready for it. Cinadel reflexively ducked out of the way of the first strike and began to chant a spell. Kendram took a grazing hit on the arm, but bounced back singing: a rousing tune that energized his companions and pumped up their will to win. Wendes directed his raven to fly in the face of the nearest ninja as a distraction, then hit it with the fiery lance of a _scorching ray_ spell. To his gratified amazement, it dropped instantly.

"They're not so tough!" he announced to the others

Meanwhile, Yarwon crouched under his fur cape and emerged in the form of a snarling wolf. He and his lynx began double-teaming ninjas with fang and claw. And Faldinn...raged. Shrieking an invocation to the Elk, the patron spirit of his clan, he laid into the ninjas with primordial savagery.

In the next moment, Cinadel's spell coalesced around him, rendering him blurry and hard to focus on. He darted among the ninjas, striking left and right with his dagger, hitting home far more often than one would expect from a mere sorcerer and defying their attempts to hit back.

As Wendes had observed, the ninjas went down easily. In fact, they vanished before they hit the ground—the perfect proof of supernatural origin. Before long, only the leader remained. It looked around, noticed that it was alone, and turned to flee. Yarwon chased it down, tackled it, and kept it pinned, growling and snapping whenever it tried to move.

"Well done," said Wendes. "Now we'll get some answers out of this...thing."

Kendram wound down his song and sat down to catch his breath. Cinadel sheathed his blade. Faldinn let himself come down from his berserk frenzy. He was almost at the end of his endurance for it anyway...but instead of simply sagging on his feet and being tired for the rest of the day, he staggered backward a few steps, eyes rolling, and abruptly collapsed.

Kendram made a little yelp of horror. "What's wrong with him? He didn't look that hurt!"

Yarwon ran to Faldinn's side, resuming human form en route, heedless of his captive. The ninja took the opportunity to scramble off, shoving Wendes to one side and melting into the shadows of the forest. "Hey!" Wendes shouted. "Way to go, Yarwon! It got away! Now its 'master' will know we're coming!"

Yarwon ignored him, engrossed as he was in examining the unconscious barbarian. "He's been poisoned," he said.

"Poison? Are you sure?" asked Cinadel.

"His symptoms check out. And _this_ is a pretty solid clue." Yarwon pulled a slender fletched needle out of Faldinn's shoulder.

"When the hell did that happen?" said Wendes. "It couldn't have been during the fight; we would have noticed a blowgun."

"There are such things as hand-thrown darts, you know," said Kendram. "Or there could have been an extra one hiding in the trees."

"For that matter, they could have shot him _before_ they sprung the ambush," said Yarwon, rummaging through his pack. "With a needle this fine, he might not feel it even if he weren't raging at the time. Either way, it obviously took a little while to kick in."

"Will he be all right?" asked Kendram.

"He will after I give him this," said Yarwon, pulling out the _potion of neutralize poison_ they had bought earlier. "Better stand back—he's likely to wake up in a fighting mood."

"So what do we do next?" asked Cinadel. "We don't want to take on the evil wizard as we are, do we? We want to have a full set of spells available, right?"

"I'm not sure it matters now," Wendes grumbled. "Ninja Boy is bound to tell him all about us. He'll be ready for whatever we can throw."

Yarwon finished administering the potion to Faldinn (via the standard medical procedure of propping him up, holding his nose, and pouring the liquid down his throat) and gently held him down so he couldn't lunge at anyone in the confusion of regaining consciousness. "He can't possibly expect everything. What we need is a strategy where we do the unexpected."

* * *

"What we need," said Denmark, stretching in his chair, "is a break."

Åland checked the clock on his laptop. "Sure. It's a good time for it. Shall we say fifteen minutes?"

"Fifteen minutes..." Sweden agreed, "...and _then_, sweetie, I think you should take fifteen more in another room and give us a chance to come up with our strategy. That way, the bad guy won't miraculously be prepared for our exact moves."

Åland gasped in mock offense. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not when you contrived for the henchman to escape like that. I don't want _you_ hearing anything _he_ wouldn't hear."

"_Contrived?_ Whatever _do_ you mean?"

"Oh, come on!" said Denmark. "Faldinn just _happens_ to pass out from a poisoned dart we had absolutely no indication of beforehand? You're not fooling anyone."

Åland raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think? Well, it's a reasonable request anyway. See you in thirty."

To Be Continued...

* * *

_A/N: __For some reason, the names of spells, magic items, and various supernatural abilities are always formatted in italics in the D&D books. I just thought I'd explain that in case anyone was wondering._


	4. Chapter 4

"Count on it," said Sweden "This is how Åland likes to run these scenarios. If we try to take on the evil wizard as we are, we won't have the resources."

"And if we camp again in order to get ourselves recharged," Denmark continued, "something will come to attack in the middle of the night. We need to get creative."

"God, don't do that," said Iceland. "It's scary when you two are on the same wavelength."

"It happens more often than you'd think," said Norway. "Usually beer is involved."

Finland smacked the table and started doodling on his notepad. A moment later, he held up a crude sketch of a tent on a log platform.

"I don't get it," said Denmark.

Finland added some zigzagging lines around the logs.

"Water?" Sweden guessed.

Finland nodded.

"Are you suggesting we build a raft and camp out on the lake?" Norway said.

Finland tapped his nose.

They mulled that over, but briefly—there were only a few minutes left before Åland was due to come out and resume the adventure.

"Actually," said Sweden, "that's a good idea. Our darling DM likes to reward strategic use of the environment by allowing it to work."

"So does this mean we can rest up and face the bad guy at full strength?" said Iceland.

"Yep," said Denmark. "Though I'm not sure why _you're_ worried. If the last fight is anything to go by, the dice _love_ you."

"Newbie luck," Sweden said dismissively.

"Better be careful, Iceland," said Norway. "You might have used up all your good rolls for the session."

"So do we have a plan for actually fighting this guy?" said Denmark.

"Well, I do have an idea," said Sweden.

He told them. It didn't take long at all.

"Wow," said Norway. "_Wow._ That's so crazy it just might work...are you sure you're okay with it?"

"Of course. I came up with it, didn't I? Is that okay with everyone else?"

"It's as good as anything else we're likely to think of on short notice," said Denmark.

They heard a door open and close upstairs, followed by approaching footsteps.

"Showtime," Norway said quietly.

* * *

Yarwon lashed the last bundle of brush onto the edge of the raft and prodded the whole thing with his foot. It bobbed very slightly. "There we go," he said. "Perfect camouflage."

"I don't know," said Kendram. "It just looks like a messy raft to me."

"It'll be dark," said Yarwon. "We'll blend in with all the other clumps of debris."

"Even if we're moving?" said Wendes.

"If we move slowly enough, it should be okay. We'll seem to be drifting in the current. Faldinn, are you good to take the first watch?" Faldinn nodded. Yarwon tossed him a makeshift paddle constructed from sticks and woven rushes.

"If we can stick to a slow walking pace," said Kendram, consulting his map, "we should just about make it to the other pass by dawn."

"Works for me," said Wendes. "All aboard."

Cinadel was already getting comfortable on his tripod near the center of the raft.

"Do you think you could at least _pretend_ to be a team player?" said Wendes.

Cinadel gave him a withering look. "Do you mind? I'm _trying_ to trance here."

* * *

Yarwon, on the last watch of the night, carefully guided the raft to shore in the gray light of false dawn. He looked around for a place to moor it, so intent on this task that he almost missed the armored man on horseback who was staring at the party from atop a dramatic outcropping.

"Stop right there! Identify yourselves and your purpose here!" the man barked, startling the others out of their sleep. He was a handsome man—tall, well-built, bronze-skinned—but his imperious demeanor was immediately off-putting.

Yarwon grasped his spear defensively. "You first," he said.

The horseman narrowed his eyes for a moment, then tossed his head in a gesture that was probably meant to look imperious but came across more like he'd been hanging around horses too long and picked up some of their body language. "Sir Eracaim, holy paladin of the Order of the Eagle. I am on the trail of the evil wizard Pjana, suspected of studying magic of mass destruction. Is that a _spellbook_ I see?"

"Yes," Wendes said testily.

"Can you account for your whereabouts at dusk five days ago?"

"Sir, he's not Pjana," said another voice. "Pjana is consistently described as being dark-haired."

Eracaim frowned in thought. "So he is. _Nonetheless_...I insist we establish whether you gentlemen are traveling on legitimate business."

"Sir, they're just adventurers," said the mystery voice. "Focus."

"Is your _horse_ talking?" Kendram asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Eracaim. "Bonded mounts can't talk. It's my enchanted helmet." He turned his head, showing the image of a man's face embossed on the back. It was clearly animated, eyes blinking and darting around like a living person's.

"Hey there," said the helmet. The party jumped.

"Pretty sweet, huh?" said Eracaim, turning back to face them. The most startling thing was the sudden complete shift in his attitude—from officious arrogance to boyish affability. "His name's Dacaan. He watches my back in battle and sometimes reminds me when I'm forgetting something."

"Like your mission?" said Dacaan. "To find Pjana? Did you maybe want to ask these guys if they knew anything?"

"You know," said Kendram, "we might actually have the same goal. We're trying to get into the next valley to investigate the burning of the grain fields over there. We've been assuming it was a wizard who did it. Maybe it's Pjana."

The paladin chuckled. It was the infuriating chuckle of one who believes himself the only being in the entire cosmos intelligent enough to get the joke. "No need to cajole me with your bardic cajolery. I have already decided to grant you the honor of accompanying me in my quest to apprehend Pjana. You're welcome."

"I don't think he's asking for that," said Cinadel. "I know _I'm_ not."

"Tut tut, pointy-eared child," said Eracaim. "You wouldn't want to offend the Order of the Eagle, would you?"

"I'm 124 years old..." Cinadel muttered.

"Never mind," said Wendes. "I know a non-optional quest when I see one. What did you have in mind, Sir Eracaim?"

"Shouldn't _you_ be figuring that out? You're a wizard. Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

For the time being, the only real effect of the alliance was that the party continued their journey accompanied by Eracaim. And his horse. And his (oddly likable) intelligent helmet. And his massive ego, impervious to polite suggestion and outright insult alike.

In many ways, he was a typical paladin—supremely virtuous and courageous by definition...and _well aware_ of that fact. There's no way to argue with someone who was hand-picked by the noblest gods to be their holy warrior. The one virtue not required, apparently, is humility. Brainpower is also not a priority. But on the other hand, the rest of it is all _real_. In a fight, there are few better companions than a paladin. It almost makes up for the smug, preachy, self-satisfied, self-important, patronizing way they conduct themselves when no fight is in the offing.

Eracaim demonstrated all of that, and topped it off with a childlike demeanor that was both infuriating _and_ endearing, and above all a most peculiar trait to find in a man with the muscles of a half-ogre and the aura of a junior angel. He exclaimed with delight at the sight of particularly lovely trees and unusual rock formations. He boasted at length about his mighty deeds of the past, and the ones he intended to perform in the near future. He groaned theatrically whenever Kendram started singing to pass the time, but a few minutes later, they might catch him humming the tune himself. He talked to not only his horse, but to the others' companion animals as well...except the snake, which he declared "creepy" and possible evidence that Cinadel was sliding toward an evil alignment. (In that case, he informed the elf, he would have no choice but to remove his head. He seemed to consider this a friendly warning.)

In short, things were awkward. The group was nothing short of relieved when they got through the pass and had something more urgent to focus on than Eracaim's endless implicit requests for ego-stroking.

The valley looked like a wasteland. Here and there, some fields were frosted with green where the farmers had started over, but most of them were monochromatic blobs, reduced to ashes by the "lightning without clouds" the other adventuring party in the tavern had mentioned.

"Tragic," said Kendram. "Just tragic. Think of the beer that will never be born!"

"Fear not, loyal friends," said Eracaim, drawing his sword while, behind him, Faldinn made gagging gestures. "This day, we shall surely triumph! Under my leadership, you shall become a force for evil to reckon with! That is, a force for good, which evil should reckon with if it knows what's good for it! I mean bad for it! Hang on, I wrote this down once..."

"How did we ever manage to take down all those ninjas yesterday without you?" said Wendes dryly.

Faldinn suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed up the boulder-strewn slope of the pass. A cloaked figure skulked there, among the rocks and trees.

"I'm betting that's our guy," said Wendes. "We should—oh, for fuck's sake!"

Without warning, Eracaim had spurred his horse to pursue the stranger. "Stop in the name of freedom!" he shouted.

"Don't worry," said Yarwon as the party followed. "He won't get far on horseback, in this terrain."

They caught up with him in a few minutes, finding him trying to forcibly lead his mount through a tight space between two huge lumps of granite. The animal wasn't having any of it and had dug in all four hooves, refusing to budge.

"Hi, guys," said Dacaan. "We've hit a bit of a roadblock here."

"Stop it!" Yarwon said to Eracaim. "Don't yank on the bit like that! You're hurting her!"

"Why are you trying to force her through there anyway?" said Wendes. "Go around."

"I saw that guy go this way," said Eracaim. "Right between these two rocks."

"Did it occur to you that maybe he did that because _you were on a horse_ and he was trying to lose you?" said Wendes.

Cinadel poked his head into the gap. "On the other hand, maybe not," he said. "I think this is the entrance to his hideout!"

"That was fast," said Yarwon. "We should divvy up the healing potions before we go in."

"Hey, what about Buttercup?" said Eracaim. "I can't just leave her alone out here!"

"Buttercup can take care of herself, sir," said Dacaan. "Remember? Special bonded mount from the celestial realms? Enhanced intelligence?"

"Oh, right." He sent the horse off, and one by one, the adventurers squeezed between the boulders.

They emerged into chilly semi-darkness—the space on the other side of the gap was heavily shaded by trees. A smattering of stumps indicated that it had been a dense grove of which the middle had recently been cleared to make a secret glade.

"Eracaim, are you _sure_ that guy came this way?" said Wendes.

"Positive. These eyes don't lie!"

"Then where is he? There's no one here, and no other exit."

"_Or is there_?" Cinadel said triumphantly, tapping one of the stumps with the side of his foot.

"Well?" said Yarwon. Cinadel pushed harder, and the stump gently lifted up, tipping to one side to reveal a stairway leading down into the earth."

"Huh," said Wendes. "Well done."

Eracaim raised his sword. "And just _how_ did you know that was there, sorcerer? Are you in league with Pjana? I knew there was something wrong with you and that snake!"

"Relax, man," said Kendram. "It's an elf thing."

"And keep it down or he'll hear us," said Yarwon.

Readying weapons and spells in various combinations, the party began to descend the stairs. They went down the equivalent of two stories or more before leveling off, by which time they were in complete darkness. Wendes muttered a brief word, calling forth a globe of light that surrounded his free hand.

A massive armored figure met their eyes. At least two people yelped in surprise...but it wasn't moving.

"This must be the automaton that other party fought," said Kendram, edging closer to it. It was propped against the cavern wall in a sitting position, its knees bent and its arms lying limply at its sides. "I guess they trashed it and it's not working."

"Let's not make any assumptions," said Wendes, as Eracaim sauntered up and began poking the construct with his sword. "_Hey!_ What are you doing?"

"Yep, it's broken all right," said the paladin. "Good thing too. Look at the size of this thing!" His head—and he was a big man—barely came up past its knee.

"So how long have you been adventuring, exactly?" Yarwon asked with a skeptical frown. "I mean, most people would know better than to do what you just did."

"The free and noble spirit of the Eagle protects me," Eracaim said smugly.

"I'll just bet it does."

"You'd be surprised," said Dacaan from the back of Eracaim's head.

"_Focus_, people," said Wendes. "This must be Pjana's workshop. See if there's anything here we can use."

Besides the defunct armor, the space where they found themselves contained a small forge, a long table covered with alchemical equipment, and a few bookcases, chests, and other items of furniture. Kendram flung open a cabinet and let out a whooping laugh. "You mean like this?" He pulled out one of perhaps a dozen spell scrolls and waved it.

Wendes's eyes lit up. "Oh, _nice_." He hurried over to peruse the find, and frowned. The parchments were covered with complicated symbols that he'd never seen before, written in flowing strokes that appeared to have been painted rather than penned.

"Kendram, are you sure these are _spell_ scrolls?" he said, raising one eyebrow.

"Bitch, _please_," said Kendram. "Are you doubting my lore? It's _foreign_ wizardry, _obviously_. I could translate it, given enough time."

"We don't have a lot of time," said Wendes. "Let's take them with us and decipher them later. Is there anything else good in there?"

"A few gems—could be enchanted. And...ooh! A wand!"

"Any idea what spell? Or was it made with 'foreign wizardry' too?"

"No, this one looks pretty normal. Could be..._summon monster_? Not sure which level."

"Enough of this!" said Eracaim. "Pjana's escaping!" With that, he charged out of the workshop through a door opposite the stairs.

"Fucking paladins..." Wendes muttered. "Come on. Grab what you can and go." He tucked the scrolls under his arms while Kendram swept the gems and wind and a few other small items into his pack, and the party ran after their frustrating new ally.

"Think there are any traps ahead of us?" said Kendram.

"If there are, there won't be for long," Cinadel pointed out.

In fact, they traversed the next few corridors without incident, and caught up with Eracaim in the next cavern of any size. Very impressive size, actually, with a high vaulted ceiling and a voluminous tunnel leading off one end. The paladin wasn't alone—he had someone at swordpoint, backed into a corner of the cavern. The other man was short, with neatly combed black hair, fussy little spectacles, and a multi-layered, exquisitely embroidered silk robe that clearly marked him as a wizard. Or possibly a crossdresser. Perhaps Eracaim had interrupted him before he got a chance to put on the wig and makeup.

"Pjana, I presume?" said Wendes.

"Oh, man!" said Eracaim. "I'm glad you guys are here. We've got a big problem!"

"What?" said Kendram.

"This is Pjana all right, but I don't know what to do with him! It turns out he's not evil!"

"He's not?" said Yarwon. None of them were entirely sure why it mattered, but there it was.

"No! I've been using my _detect evil_ power since I got in here and saw him, and it's turning up nothing!"

"And _I_ keep telling you," said Pjana in a clipped accent, "you must stop doing it before you hurt yourself! I have already called my...that is...perhaps you ought to take my word for it! I am not evil, true, but there is something else in this mountain that is, and it will be here any minute!"

"And that's what I don't get!" Eracaim wailed. "If you're not evil, why are you working with something that is? And if you are evil, and lying about it, how are you stopping me from detecting it?"

Eracaim's helmet sighed. "Remember what I said before about black and white thinking?" Dacaan said patiently.

"I am afraid it would take too long to explain," said Pjana. "_Please_, honorable sir, release me. I fear for your safety if my...associate should find you threatening me."

A heavy _thump_ shook the cavern, emanating from somewhere up the broad tunnel. "Oh, god..." said Kendram. "What is that?" His question was followed immediately by a nearly identical _thump_, a bit closer. Dirt drifted down from the cavern ceiling.

"Eracaim..." said Wendes softly. "Maybe you should let him go."

At the third _thump_, Eracaim turned his head—and thus the focus of his _detect evil_ power—to the tunnel. He squinted into the darkness. There came yet another _thump_, and the paladin suddenly reeled as if struck, dropped his sword, and fell heavily to the ground. "Ow," said Dacaan.

"I did warn him," Pjana said sheepishly. "As for the rest of you...you were working with him, were you not? You could have stepped in at any time to spare me the embarrassment of his attention, but you did not." His eyes narrowed. "This insult will not go unpunished."

_Thump_. A huge, scaly snout, bristling with fangs, poked into the tunnel.

"Right," said Wendes. "Faldinn, grab the idiot and let's _run_!"

The party fled back the way they had come as a rasping roar filled the cavern and the roof began to fall in.

To Be Continued...

_A/N: I fudged the D&D rules in a couple places to make the story work more elegantly. Assume it's a house rule peculiar to this group._


End file.
